


Close like bosoms, bosoms stay close

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, Farce, Loud Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7841560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please step up the challenge of writing Poe & Finn’s loud sex and how the rest of the base complain about it? They are SO enthusiastic and SO into each other they just can’t keep quiet, nope, sorry, tried it, can’t do it, whatcha gonna do? Poe’s a commander round here, if you want him and his boyfriend to keep their deeply-in-love, life-affirming sex quiet, you’re gonna have to talk to his superior officer and idk very much about military hierarchy but BASICALLY you’d have to ask General Organa to have a word and - no. She loves those boys like they were her own sons and she doesn’t live next door, so. Unlikely."</p><p>tl;dr - Finn and Poe are really loud. Everyone else tries to figure out how to cope (and Leia just smirks).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close like bosoms, bosoms stay close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deputychairman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/gifts).



> Summary/challenge from Deputychairman [here](http://deputychairman.tumblr.com/post/149279992768/stormpilot-nsfw-7-9-10-13).
> 
> Title from De La Soul, "[Buddy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F69dt5clGPo)".

When Finn and Poe fuck, everyone knows. The noise is deafening.

At first, the rest of the pilots do their best to ignore it. Finn is newly back on his feet, discovering moment by moment the delights and challenges that freedom brings. They love how happy he is when he gets to taste a new food or see a new planet, so it's difficult to begrudge his happiness with his own body. And, _fine_ , with Poe's body, as well.

They're more used to dealing with Poe's effusiveness. The guy's never going to shut up, they know this. It's one of his greatest strengths, whether that's in a dogfight or squadron psych-ups or just a pickup match of Corellian handball. He's such a good guy - and most of them have slept with him at one point or another, either one-on-one or in one of those squad-tangles that happen sometimes - so they know what to expect. He yells, a lot. He _enthuses_ , a lot, constantly.

"What we're looking at," Iolo says carefully when they first meet to discuss the situation, "is the perfect storm. Two of the loudest, sweetest guys out there, coming together, it's bound to --"

Karé snickers. "Coming. _Together_."

"Yeah, thanks, Kun, that's --"

"-- that's exactly the issue," Wexley puts in. He's puffing on a narrow spice hose. The vapor wreathes his head, makes him look even more like one of those beneficent Jedi sages in the holos. "Each on his own, no worries. You do you, man. And most everyone else, I guess."

"Not any more," Karé says. "Think they're exclusive."

"Nah," Wexley says and frowns. "Wait. _Really?_ "

"Appears so," Iolo says. He looks around the table. "Should we take a minute? Have a moment of silence for Dameron's dick?"

"Why? It's happier than it's been in years," Karé says. "Let's have a moment of silence for our sleep patterns. And ear drums."

Slumped over the card table, Pava has her head pillowed on her arms. Her contribution to the discussion is a light gurgling snore. Her bunk is right next door to Poe's; this is a placement she used to brag about. She had first-row dibs on all the gossip, all the comings and goings --

"Comings, heh," Karé says and Iolo punches her joystick arm. "Fuck, watch it!"

" _Concentrate_."

"Testor's asleep and you're yelling at me? How does that work?"

"She needs to sleep whenever she can," Wexley says and puffs on his pipe. It bubbles thoughtfully. "Try being a little understanding."

"Understand what?" Poe asks, poking his head into their clubhouse. (It's a curtain drawn across a corner of the far hangar with a sign that reads KEEP OUT THIS MEANS YOU.) "Are you getting the sabacc pyramid going again? Because I want in."

"Can you _read_?" Karé demands, half-rising, only to have Wexley tug her down.

Poe's eyes dart and he takes a step back, one hand on his chest. "That means me?"

"That. Means. You."

"Ignore her, man." Iolo waves Poe in, sliding aside to make room. "We hadn't thought about getting the sabacc thing back up and running, but it's not a bad idea."

"Right?" Poe bobs his head. "There's so many new grunts around, the word can't have spread too far. Whole new crop of fresh meat."

Karé snorts again, then shrugs when Poe turns inquiringly toward her.

Jess shifts in her sleep, throwing out one arm, colliding with Wexley's spice jug. It wobbles but does not tip over.

"She okay?" Poe asks, then drops his voice. "What's up with her lately?"

"Insomnia," Karé says. 

Poe whistles sympathetically. "Been there."

"Yeah," Iolo says. "We heard."

"Everyone did," Karé says, then won't meet anyone's eyes.

♥

"Come on," Poe says that night when Finn's getting close. 

Finn is crowded up against the wall of their bunk, one leg over Poe's shoulder, four of Poe's fingers inside him, twisting and trying to spread. Coated in sweat, so much that his vision is blurred and stung, his head knocking hard against the wall - these little jolts of pain are the only thing keeping him tethered, he's sure of it - he can't stop moaning.

"Poe --"

Poe dips his head to lick, then nibble, a long stretch across Finn's chest. He shifts the angle of his fingers, twisting his wrist, watching as Finn's wide eyes get even wider. His groans ratchet up the scale, so when Poe strokes Finn's quivering cock, they shatter and tumble back down, getting deeper and rougher and louder.

"Are you going to come for me?" Poe asks, tightening his grip, re-angling his wrist. "Finn."

Finn's eyelids flutter. His chest heaves and he goes silent for a moment.

"Please?" Poe stills both his hands, lets Finn's hips pump up, then bear down. "Please, baby."

Finn surges forward, yelling Poe's name amid a jagged stream of noise, fucking himself downward and throwing his arms around Poe's shoulders.

Pava has moved into Pamich's quarters, but even a floor up and several doors down, she can hear Finn's orgasm. Transparisteel doesn't crack or break, but it does rattle slightly ominously in its frames.

♥

"I'll do it," Bastian offers. He limped back from a supply run gone terribly wrong yesterday, so tired that he actually slept through whatever Poe and Finn were getting up to last night. 

Most of the morning, the pilots have kept to their lounge. They've been speculating as to just _what_ that was keeping Finn and Poe up last night. The thumping, sure, they're used to that interspersed among the moans and shouts. But there was a new, jittery jangle accompanying the thumps and grunts, as well as the occasional wet splash.

"You sure, man?" Iolo asks. He's relieved, but careful not to show it, not until the deed is done. "We'll all owe you."

"Don't sweat it," Bastian says, rising from the chaise.

"Wait, you're going _now_?" Pava asks.

"Maybe wait a bit," Karé suggests, then shrugs. "What? They need to sleep it off, right? They ran pretty late, is all."

"Think you should plan out what you're gonna say," Wexley says. "Practice it, run it by us, give it some time."

"They've got a point." Iolo tugs on Bastian's sleeve. "Sit down, finish your caf. Let's work this out."

Bastian looks around the lounge. "You want this taken care of or not?" 

"Of course we do." Pava points at her face. "Do you have any idea how many naps I've been taking to fade these circles? I look like a fucking emo Ren or something."

"It's just..." Karé shifts awkwardly. "This needs a delicate touch."

"I'm delicate!" Bastian protests. "I'm known for a gentle and loving touch. Ask anyone!"

"Yeah, but --" Iolo drains his caf and crumples the container. "Let's all take a deep breath."

♥

Things quiet down, remarkably so, when Poe is out with most of the squad for almost three weeks. Finn remains outwardly cheery, high-fiving everyone he passes, buckling down to both physical training and his self-imposed course of philosopho-historical study, eating as voraciously as ever in the mess.

"Is he all right, though?" Wexley asks. He's grounded and left behind, thanks to a concussion gained when a new volunteer twigged on to the sabacc pyramid scam too early and made his complaints known physically.

Connix shakes her head. "He's a shadow of his usual self."

"I wouldn't go that far," Leia says from across the table. They both startle, exchanging panicked looks. She sighs and straightens up from the five datapads arrayed in front of her. "Strange, isn't it, how my hearing works just fine?"

"Ma'am," Connix starts but Leia waves her off.

"Finn's going to be fine. In fact --" She checks the display screen behind Wexley's shoulder. "I'd venture to say he's going to be _quite_ fine in approximately four standard hours."

Connix twists around to see the display. Indeed, Bruise Squadron - it's half Black, half Blue - is due out of the penultimate hyperlane shortly.

"Now would be a good time to get some earplugs," Leia says, bending back down to work. "Or perhaps grab a nap, just to make it through the reunion."

Wexley can't look away from the toes of his boots. Giggling, Connix elbows him hard before joining the general with yet another datapad.

♥

Finn backs Poe into the first open door they find. He _tried_ to make it back to the bunk, but. That was a lofty goal, far beyond his mere human grasp.

"Three weeks," he says, groaning, pushing Poe's flight suit down off his shoulders.

"I know, believe me." Poe kisses him, wiggling so the suit slips further down his hips. The kiss is artless, open mouth and sharp teeth, questing tongue. "Fuck."

Grabbing for Finn, he steps backward, crashing into a cabinet of old tools, each of which proceeds to clatter to the hard permacrete floor.

Finn's laughing now, all the tension and worry of the last weeks alchemizing into booming chortles and hoots. 

Poe grins, groping Finn with one hand, pulling him in. "Missed you. So much."

"How much?" Finn tips him against the collapsed cabinet, thigh between Poe's legs, grinding down.

"A lot?" Poe thrusts back, hand on Finn's neck, in his soft hair, back to his shoulder. "Fuck, Finn. _Fuck_ me."

"That's the idea, genius." Smiling, Finn drops down, fast as anything, taking the flight suit with him, shoving his mouth against Poe's crotch, already tracing out the lump his erection makes in his drawers.

"Brilliant --" Poe starts to shove his fist into his mouth but Finn sits back on his heels.

"Take it out, please," he says, just gazing up at Poe with hooded eyes and wet open mouth.

"Fuck, okay." Poe needs one hand on Finn, just to stay upright, and the other's tugging down his drawers, getting spritzed with pre-come when his dick springs and shudders out. 

That's the closest he manages to get to quiet, that fist halfway to his mouth, because after this, he's shouting hard and loud, urging Finn on, praising him at length and in voluminous detail, then just babbling obscenities mixed with truly excruciating, tooth-rotting endearments.

♥

"So," Bastian tries when he finally gets the go-ahead to have the talk. "Having a good time with Finn, eh?"

Poe squints at the weird ding on Black One's starboard S-foil. "Hand me the tensor."

Bastian complies. "Need the tape?"

"Yeah." Poe measures out the repair area, steps back, measures again, then drops to one knee to retrieve a laser-rule from BB-8. "Sorry, what was your question?"

"You and Finn," Bastian says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He's rapidly losing confidence that he can do this. When he says Finn's name, Poe's smile brightens by several orders of magnitude and he throws his shoulders back as he pushes the hair off his forehead. He's _beaming_.

"Yeah, man, he's --" Poe pulls himself to his feet. "It's great. It's really great."

"Good, good," Bastian says and bumps his fist against Poe's upper arm. "Happy for you."

Poe grabs his elbow before he can get away. "Yeah? That means a lot. Thank you."

"Sure, of course." 

Poe hugs him one-armed, squeezing him tight. "Thanks. Never thought I'd feel this way, you know? Like a whole new horizon or some shit."

"Aww," Bastian says, faintly.

Bastian doesn't know how he's going to account for this abject failure to the rest of the pilots. He groans when he remembers that, of course, it's not just the pilots, not any longer. Pamich and Threepio have joined the cause, representing both tech staff and droids.

"Why don't we go to Finn?" Bastian suggests at the next meeting. They don't fit in the clubhouse any longer, nor the pilots' lounge, so this is just them lingering in the mess at shift change.

"No fucking way," Karé says. She just spent four hours with Finn watching holos her nana sent from home, stuff from her childhood, even her grandparents' wedding. Finn'd been asking about domestic rituals; this was the best she could offer. He couldn't look away, he was so enthralled with the stupid old footage. "He's --. No. We're not going to him."

"Agreed," Pamich says and Wexley nods vigorously. "You had trouble talking to Dameron? What do you think it'd be like, facing _Finn_?"

"As a protocol droid, I am equipped with a mastery of four thousand varieties of humanoid etiquette which I have supplemented with my own decades of observation such that --" Before he can finish, Threepio finds his emergency power button depressed and he crumples to his knees.

"What about BB-8?" a flight mechanic asks. "He could install noise dampeners around the bunk? Provide some kind of white noise filter?"

"Are _you_ going to explain to him what's going on?" Connix demands. "Remember what happened when Dameron took to wearing his hair --"

"Shit," the mechanic says, sitting back dejectedly. The controversy of Poe's ponytail split this particular Resistance unit down the middle. When one faction thought it would be a grand idea to program BB-8 for automatic barbering functions, they were nearly paralyzed by his (illegally souped-up) taser.

"Exactly," Iolo says.

♥

Finn and Poe are part of a strike operation on a non-affiliated exoplanet. Nothing goes according to plan, any plan, not the original plan, not any of the back-up ones, and certainly not the three emergency ones cooked up on the fly as they retreat in panic for the freighter.

They lose three droids and one grunt, suffer several more non-lethal casualties, and haul ass from the sudden appearance of a First Order capital ship to hide in a backwater system.

Wexley's on flight duty, with Iolo as navigator.

Karé joins them in the cockpit when Poe and Finn start getting exceptionally loud.

"Where _are_ they?" Iolo asks. The freighter is drifting sub-lightspeed as they wait, hope, pray like hell, for a response from the nearest resistance outpost.

Poe's voice is in the oxygen ducts, it seems like, but he might as well be bent over in the passage just behind them. "Fuck me, sweetheart, come on, give it to me, do it, please, Finn, you've got to --"

Karé reaches past Wexley to turn up the volume on the static-ridden comms channel. It doesn't help much at all. "Cargo hold, I think."

Finn's groans are coming faster, his voice growing more and more hoarse, and the sound of flesh slapping on flesh just gets louder. "Fucking love you," he's saying, so passionately he sounds _angry_ , "can't lose you, don't you dare --"

"Fill me up, make it _count_."

Iolo covers his face. Karé pats his shoulder.

"Love you so much, you fucking beautiful man, what are you _doing_ to me, love, love --"

"That's it, I'm out," Wexley announces and throws up his hands. "Count me out of any future plans. I feel like an asshole --"

"You _are_ an asshole," Iolo says.

"Thanks, pal, takes one to know one, et cetera." Wexley slaps on the earphones the techs wear on the airfield. "I'm out. Let them shout down the stars, who am I to say anything?"

"Damn it," Iolo says and shifts in his seat when they hear Poe's orgasm hit. "This is wrong. And hot. But so wrong."

"But hot," Karé says a little mournfully.

♥

When they consult Dr. Kalonia for advice, she regales them with charts of humanoid male sexual response, both animated holos and still sheets.

All the graphs look like penises. That can't be a coincidence.

♥

They celebrate Poe's birthday with purple spice direct from the Dameron homestead and liter upon liter of homebrew Yavin punch at a party to which everyone off-shift is invited. It runs long enough that both shifts can make it, as it turns out. 

Leia has too much spice and, after sharing a confusing but incredibly ribald story about Solo and Calrissian and a distinct lack of breeches, takes a nap in Finn's lap.

When the party itself is done, even Leia gently carried back to her quarters, the two continue celebrating with a marathon session of sex that brings even the few Ewoks stumbling out of doors, rubbing their eyes, chirping to see what's wrong.

"Surprised they waited for us to go home," Connix whispers to Pamich, pulling the pillow over their heads. Pamich and Pava are on the outs, and never let it be said that Connix let a sad girl on the rebound go lonely for long.

"They're good hosts, I guess," Pamich says, and giggles, and kisses her again, cupping one breast until Connix is gasping against her.

♥

"Let me be sure I understand what you're requesting." Admiral Statura laces his fingers together and takes a deep breath. 

"It's not that bad," Karé says. "We're just...deferring to your authority, like."

Statura holds up his hand. "You want me to speak, officially and on the record, to a commander and a defector hero, about the volume at which they..." He closes his eyes briefly. "Copulate."

"It's just that --" Pava looks at Karé, then at Threepio, who has accompanied them on the proviso he stay muted. "Like, any time they have more than five minutes together --"

"Five?" Statura asks, then nods, more to himself than for their benefit. "Dameron _does_ have good stamina, I'll give him that much."

"Gave him more than that, I heard," Karé says.

"Captain."

"Sorry." She straightens her posture. "We don't know who else to talk to. The general? I don't think so."

"No." Statura stands and waves them out of his office. "Thanks for the suggestion, but we're not in the business of interfering in our people's personal lives. There are some, of course, who'd love to police such behavior, perhaps you've run across them? Black shirts, very grim."

"Are you seriously suggesting we're like the First Order --" Karé starts to argue, but Pava drags her away. "Let me go!"

"No," Pava says, shoving her against the passage wall. "Not until you calm down."

"I'm calm," Karé says through clenched jaw, with narrowed eyes. "I'm _so_ calm."

"Why're you so worked up about this, anyway?"

They glare at each other but fall silent when a trio of Marines passes, heading for the training simulators. 

When they're alone again, Pava shakes Karé a little. "Huh?"

"You couldn't get any sleep, remember?"

"Yeah, but I took care of that." Back in her own quarters, Pava's been sleeping each night like a Wookiee cub, thanks to airfield headphones, three cups of Dreamy Slumber tea, and a couple puffs from Wexley's spice vaporizer. "You're still complaining. What gives?"

Karé squints and sighs, biting the inside of her cheek. Pava's so close to her, she can smell the sweetness on her breath.

"Ladies," General Organa says, turning the corner and stopping short. "As exciting as semi-public canoodling can be - and trust me, I know it's thrilling - this passage sees a great deal of foot traffic. Might I suggest you, as they say, 'get a room'?"

"Ma'am," Karé says in a choked voice, shoving Pava away.

"Ma'am, we're not --" Pava starts.

Leia waves off their protests. "I just want you all healthy, happy, and alive. You know that, don't you?"

Pava looks at Karé, who, finally, looks up from her clenched hands and gives her a tiny, effortful smile.

"Love is a precious --" Leia starts to say, then chuckles and shakes her head, amused by her own pomposity. "Never mind the profundities. Take care of each other, all right? All of you."

Later, despite the maelstrom of moans and urgent encouragement next door, Karé doesn't hear a damn thing, not with Pava's thighs locked around her ears and her small, strong hand clutching at her braids.

It's the least they can do. Taking care of each other, and all.


End file.
